Bundaberg Rum (a trip down memoryless lane)

Bundaberg Rum UP
Bundaberg, QLD

When I was thirteen, I watched Billy Moore’s now infamous “Queenslander” chant during the 1995 State of Origin series. I remember thinking to myself that it was really nice of the Maroons to select such a high-profile sufferer of Tourette syndrome.

There is only one thing more Queensland than that fabled Origin moment... and that’s Bundaberg Rum. In fact, Bundy is even more Sunshine State than Wally Lewis sticking a bunch of bananas up Ian Healey’s bumhole, while on a fishing trip to the Great Barrier Reef.

I first tasted Bundy Rum at my friend Danni’s house as a fourteen year old. Convinced I could impress her with my drinking skills, I consumed enough rum to sedate every miner in Far North Queensland. I’m pretty sure I failed, unless she’s impressed with guys who burn their jeans in a bonfire and vomit on their Pearl Jam t-shirt.

Since then, I’ve had a bipolar relationship with the overbearing polar bear. Many Queenslanders refer to Bundaberg Rum as mother’s milk, whereas I like to think it’s more of an abusive stepmother’s formula. I can’t recall the number of mornings after sinking a dozen Bundy and Coke cans, that I’ve woken up feeling like I've actually spent the night with Ted Bundy.

So what is it about the sickly golden distillate that makes me return, time and time again?

Well, I simply believe that it’s a case of religious indoctrination. As a teenager, I was a pious acolyte of the Church of Bundaberg Rum. With a polar bear as my pastor, I spent my weekends being relentlessly molested by molasses. Today, as an alcoholic alter boy, I still read from the Bundy Bible.

Hallelujah!

Twice in One Hour!

Dear Secure Parking,

Last Thursday, I parked my Mum’s purple Honda Civic at your Riley Street parking lot in Darlinghurst. Why am I driving my Mum’s purple Honda Civic? Well, I recently sold my 1991 Subaru Brumby and haven’t found a suitable replacement yet. Unfortunately the Delorean from Back to the Future is still travelling through time to find a cure for Parkinson’s disease and President Obama won’t sell Air Force One.

I parked the car for one hour and thirteen minutes, between the hours of 1:36pm and 2:49pm at a total cost of $40.17. This included a surcharge of $1.17, which I can only assume is for the inconvenience of using my Visa card, rather than feeding $39 worth of ten cent pieces into your pay station’s coin slot. Next time I promise to be more considerate.

Paying this amount of money for one hour of parking seems exorbitant to me; here’s why:

Hypothetically, if someone named Rich went to Darlinghurst to visit a working girl named Destiny, at a brothel situated within walking distance of your parking lot; how much do you think he would pay per hour for her services? I know; the irony of a prostitute named Destiny is not lost on me either. Anyway, say Destiny charges $150 per hour - hypothetically. That’s only $111 more per hour than you charge for parking a car on a bare concrete surface. Do you think Rich faces an equitable predicament, considering the services rendered by both parties? I bet Rich wouldn’t think so. In fact, I reckon he’d know exactly what it feels like to be fucked twice in one hour.

I was wondering if there are any extra costs involved for parking on one of the upper-levels. Is there some kind of admission fee for using the stairwell to get to the ground floor? I only ask because I noticed that someone painstakingly recreated a scene from a Kings Cross public toilet in there. The pungent smell of stale urine was spot-on and the used prophylactic slumped over one of the stairs like a lifeless sea cucumber, was the icing on the urinal cake. Bravo to your art department for designing such an authentic installation.

If my parking cost was so high because of the entry fee to your stairwell gallery, please disregard this letter. If however, the use of the stairwell is complimentary, can you please inform “Rich” and I why the cost of parking in your car park, is relatively expensive when compared to shagging a hooker in a licensed bordello.

Cheers,

Rich Wisken

My Interview on ABC Radio Sydney.

This morning I was fortunate enough to be interviewed by Linda Mottram on 702 ABC Sydney. I think they blew their entire budget producing the promo for my ad.

Click the link below to listen.

Click HERE if you couldn't give a shit.

Thanks to Brendan King, Linda Mottram and Jacob Round for putting it together.

Erik - the Joffrey Baratheon of Online Classifieds...

Hello Erik from Castle Hill,


I see that you’re selling your white Volkswagen Golf R32 DSG on Gumtree. Cool car bro’ - just kidding. Can you please tell me what DSG stands for? Is it, “InbreD PlagiariSing ButtpluG?" The reason I ask, is because I noticed that you cut & paste the copy from my Brumby ad into your Gumtree listing, before adding a few bits and pieces of your own.

It’s OK though Erik, I’m sure this has all just been a big misunderstanding.

Imagine how upset I would feel if someone deliberately passed off my work as his or her own. I suppose I’d feel the same way you did when little Timmy stole your crayons at special school; maybe even as sad as when you wore your King Joffrey costume to the sheltered workshop last week, only to have a co-worker demolish your cardboard box fortress. Did you know that Joffrey’s Mum had sexual relations with her twin brother? Something I think you should talk to your Mum and uncle about.

Remember when your Mum used to tell you that life was like a box of chocolates? Well, I wonder if she’s disappointed that you turned out to be a Turkish delight - the shit one that nobody likes. Please don’t blame yourself for being illiterate though. It was bound to happen; considering your Mum misspelled “Eric” on your birth certificate all those years ago. What can you expect from woman who was high on PCP? Personally, I think it’s the prison obstetrician’s fault for not correcting the error.

I apologise if your Mum actually descends from Viking blood, in which case spelling Erik with a K is completely understandable.

Is this your Mum Erik? I can see why you’re selling your VW Golf. How on earth have you been taking her to the methadone clinic in such a small hatchback for all these years?

Anyway, I guess I shouldn’t be too hard on you. Someone once told me that imitation is the sincerest form of flattery. With this in mind, I’ve decided to imitate you by spending the weekend in my Mum’s underwear and furiously masturbating to One Direction videos.

Best regards,

Rich Wisken

Colosseum? More Like Mausoleum!

Dear Colosseum Pizza & Rib House,

I’m writing to see if you received my email a couple of months ago outlining the concerns I had with my order of one large ribs. I’ve been eagerly awaiting your reply...

Firstly, please confirm which animal the ribs came from. I don’t mean which animal specifically, just the species. I’ve thought about this long and hard and I’m convinced they must have belonged to a cat, or one of the Olsen twins - probably Mary Kate.

To be honest, I’ve seen meatier ribs in a World Vision commercial.

Your business name gives an impression of grandeur on an immense scale; after all, the Colosseum was the Roman Empire’s largest elliptical ampitheatre. Because of this, I was expecting to be presented with a rack of ribs similar in size to the one that tips Fred’s car over during the opening sequence of The Flintstones. Unfortunately, what I received looked more like Skeletor’s throne from He-Man and the Masters of the Universe - another childhood favourite cartoon of mine.

Don’t you think that for someone named Skeletor, he’s incredibly muscular? Me too.

Remember the movie Gladiator, starring Russell Crowe? It’s probably my favourite sports movie of all time. Basically, it’s about Rusty’s experience at the Colosseum. He gets really angry and kills lots of people in it, a scene I’ve played out in my mind countless times over the last couple of months. Don’t worry though, I’m not a violent person. At worst I’d probably just throw a telephone at you - another one of Rusty’s favoured combat techniques.

The one positive outcome from this experience is that I’m thinking of sponsoring a World Vision child. I haven’t done much research into yet, do I get to bring him home? If so, I’d probably go for one with a bit of sweatshop experience. I’m terrible with a sewing machine and since I lost so much weight - a consequence of meager rib consumption - I now require a skilled tailor to alter all my clothes. What do you think I should name the little guy? I’m thinking, Maximus.

I’m not after an apology, but I do want you to know that the $39.95 I paid for the replica graveyard you gave me could’ve been used to keep little Maximus and his family alive for a quarter of a millennium, which just happens to be the same amount of time it’ll take me to reconsider ordering from you again.

All the best,

Rich Wisken (and Maximus)

CLICK HERE TO READ PART II

Leonardo DiCaprio Wears a Watch - Sort Of

The Wild Stallion

Last year, I wrote an ad to sell my 1991 Subaru Brumby. I honestly thought that I'd be lucky to get fifty or so views, but as of today, the combined views between eBay and Gumtree surpassed 200,000.

If I had a dollar for every time someone viewed my ad, I'd have... I can't find my calculator. 

I've had some excellent replies, including: a nude photo and explicit home video from an exhibitionist in QLD, two marriage proposals, numerous copywriting job offers, and perhaps my favourite - someone telling me I should kill myself because I'm not funny. Brilliant.

Thanks to everyone who shared the ad with their mates and to Gumtree for posting it on their Facebook page.

The Brumby sold, but I'm not sure for how much. My team of accountants should finish counting the cash in 12-14 months.

*UPDATE*

Gumtree views = 1.75 million

No idea how many Facebook/Twitter shares

Click below for the ad

Orlando Wines, Coolabah, Fruity Lexia NV

Orlando Wines
Coolabah, Fruity Lexia NV (Goon)
Barossa Valley, S.A

Since 1973, Coolabah have equipped impoverished uni students and penniless backpackers with a highly functional piece of sleeping paraphernalia — the silver pillow. Perhaps the only examples of contemporary engineering that rival these shining headrests include: the Mars Rover and Iain Hewitson’s suspenders.

The box’s artwork depicts something I’ve never seen before; three adults drinking Goon from actual wine glasses, not a Hills Hoist in sight — clearly a surrealist piece.

A golden shower of flaxen-coloured liquid generously surges from the Golden Gallon’s nozzle. The aroma profile is a heady mix of house parties and Cottee’s orange/mango cordial. If my dad picked the fruit that went in this stuff, I’d put myself up for adoption. 

The saccharine fluid tastes like passionfruit and a girl I once knew, which isn't ideal. Fruity Lexia, like dyslexia, impairs a person’s fluency and their ability to read, write and spell. It also impedes one’s capacity to judge the attractiveness of the opposite sex.

If this syrupy concoction was a person, it'd be Zac Efron, because it's sickly-sweet and high-school girls desperately want it in their mouths.